Honey, I shrunk the marché!

If marketers opted not to hunker down in front of the ol’ homestead hearth, they definitely did need to bundle up, tête to pie, for the Saint Rémy marché this chilly last week of February. Braving 40 degrees (tops) and an icy mistral, the vendors were not peddling breezy linen frocks, wide-rimmed Panama hats or neon-striped pool towels. Instead, the few tables set up on Place de la République, typically packed when inviting temps prevailed, appealed to the promise of protection with mounds of knitted caps, wool scarves and puffy vests in a kaleidoscope of hues.

A cheerful vendor beckons customers with her colorful array of neck warmer-cap combos called cagoules–every trip to the marché is a language lesson.

Typically, snagging an outdoor seat at Café de la Place on market day is a formidable challenge. Today, patrons have their pick.

A dapper couple neatly decked out in zipped-up coats, caps, scarves, and shades strides through the sparse market, most likely in search of missing mittens. Never leave home without ’em.

Olives, olives, olives, a thousand ways olives. Choice is tough. In spring, madame may take her time deciding, but in February monsieur hopes she makes it snappy. His frigid fingers need a flannel pocket break.

While madame searches her bag for correct change, Avocado Man takes a micro snooze, envisioning his comfy chair, feet propped on the ottoman, a verre of rouge warming his hand.  Ahhh…

Baby in Blue, on the other hand, is way ahead of the game. In full snooze, snug in stroller, he has Avocado Man beat by a mile. Well, minus the vin rouge, that is. But he’s more of a warm milk kinda guy, anyway.

Milk? Did someone say milk? Come and get it! From the market, walk up past Hôtel Valrugues, keep on going a bit, and look right. Bring a bucket.